by Romi Hart
I said nothing as he drove to the Cineplex in Emeryville on Bay Street. At the concession stand, he ordered Raisinets, Sour Patch Kids, a Coke and Diet Coke for me. I hated the taste of aspartame. I never drank diet drinks, but before I knew what was happening, Troy spouted out his order to the high school kid at the register.
Troy handed me the Diet. “I don’t drink Diet drinks,” I said. My face frowned as I held the giant extra-large cup.
“Oh. Well, it’s just like regular,” he said flippantly taking a big slurp of his soda.
I looked at my drink doubtful. Noticing my expression, he said, “You can have some of mine if you’re that picky about it.”
“No, that’s okay,” I said taking a tiny sip of the soda. It was gross. Not to mention, I never ate Raisinets or Sour Patch Kids. I began to wonder if anything would ever really work out with Troy if those were his movie theater snacks of choice.
I was a Reese’s Pieces and Twizzlers girl. I took bites of Twizzlers and popped Reese’s into my mouth. The combination was a magically fruity, peanut buttery yumminess. But, I wouldn’t be having any of that yumminess that night it seemed.
In the theater, Troy wanted to sit in the very first row. I never sat that close to the screen. “You like the front row, right?”
“Not for movies. This is a bit close,” I remarked, looking at the immense screen looming over me.
“Front row. Not the front row.” Troy laughed. “You’re a girl who can’t make up her mind,” he said shaking his head.
“Can we sit a little bit further back? I might get sick sitting this close,” I said looking behind me for empty seats.
He sighed heavily. “Okay. If it means that much to you.”
He got up and marched to a seat in the middle of the third row. He gestured with his palms up. “Any further back, we won’t be able to see the movie.”
I looked at the gigantic screen. “Okay. This is great. Thanks,” I said, sitting down next to him.
I spent the entire movie with my hands covering my eyes. Troy was what I would call an active audience participant. He hollered at the screen, laughed loudly at the funny parts, talked during the movie, and screamed louder than anyone in the theater. The movie was terrifying. At least, the little bits I saw between my fingers were.
I was relieved when it was over. The credits rolling onto the screen were a balm for my shaky nerves. I was never going to be the same around clowns again.
After the movie, I assumed we’d go to dinner somewhere. My expectation wasn’t for a grand fancy dinner, but I was starving for a full meal. Instead, Troy drove us back to campus.
He parked on College Avenue that ran along the eastern edge of Cal. I was disappointed we weren’t going somewhere a little more off campus. I was dying to see the rest of Berkeley. I hadn’t had a chance to see much aside from the Haas, Clark Kerr, and Sproul.
I followed him to Caffe Strada, which was right across the street from Boalt Law School. We were minutes from Haas. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve studied many times at Strada. They had plenty of outdoor seating for when you want to study out in the cool evening air.
But, we weren’t studying. And I was starving. All I’d ever had at Strada were baked goods: scones, croissants, and banana bread. My stomach grumbled sadly. I needed real food.
We walked by dozens of students with their laptops open, pouring through notes and books. Seeing them, I wanted to get back to my room to study. I wanted to curl up with my reading material and bliss out information ingestion.
When we walked up to the register, I scoured the menu hoping to find something to eat with a little more substance. Troy ordered right away not asking me what I wanted. “I’ll get two peach ginger ice teas, a blueberry muffin, and a cranberry orange scone,” Troy told the tattooed guy behind the counter. He had a tattoo sleeve of fairies and sprites fluttering up his arm.
I was bummed, but I hoped he would give me the blueberry muffin simply because it was huge, almost twice the size of the scone.
Troy picked a small table in the back corner. I hoped we would go outside and enjoy the fresh air. I thought to say something about it, but after my supposedly picky request for other seats in the theater, I sat down at the table without saying anything.
Unceremoniously, Troy handed me the cranberry orange scone. My stomach screamed. I thought I could hear it crying in agony. He pinched the top off the blueberry muffin and crammed it into his mouth. The muffin top alone was heaps larger than my tiny scone.
“Do you normally order for your dates?” I asked cautiously. This was something I needed to know about him if we were going to hang out. Did I want to date someone who never asked me what I wanted?
I took a bite of the scone. It tasted delicious. The cranberry and orange flavor had a tartness from the cranberry and a slight bitterness from the orange. I wished I had four more to scarf down.
His mouth widened into a huge smile. “Sure do. I take care of my girls.”
My eyes narrowed. Girls? How many girls?
On my look, he added, “I mean, not that I’ve had lots of girls. I just mean I love to take care of the woman in my life.”
I take a sip of my peach ginger tea. The ginger was thankfully not earthy like ginger can be, but more citrusy. I wouldn’t have ordered peach ginger tea if I had my say.
“This is good,” I said nodding to the tea. “But, I always order coffee here.”
Troy looked at me like I’d said something ridiculous. “Coffee? At this hour. I don’t think so.”
“What?” What was he talking about?
Troy leaned into the table looking me in the eyes. “That’s just what I’m saying, Laney. I take care of my woman. You shouldn’t be drinking coffee so late. It’s not good for you.”
He was being ridiculous. I could drink coffee whenever I wanted. Annoyed, I let him know a thing or two about myself, “Troy, I can take care of myself. I really don’t need someone to control everything. It’s unnerving.”
He ran his fingers through his bangs. “You should just sit back and let me take care of you. You’ll come to love it in time. I know what’s best.”
I looked away not wanting to continue down that line of conversation. Troy was pushy and a little conceited. He smiled at me openly looking sure of himself. I told myself again to give him a chance. Marsha pressed me enough about it that I cautioned myself to not give up on him so quickly.
I had to tell him that I was going out on a date with Jett. I scolded myself for not telling him earlier. Troy’s temper could flare without warning. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him right when he picked me up.
After our snack, as there was no way I was calling that dinner, Troy walked me home from the café. When we got to Clark Kerr, I knew that I couldn’t chicken out. I had to tell him.
“Troy, I have to tell you something,” I said as two girls I recognized living on the floor above mine walked inside our dorm building.
Before I could get the words out, Troy took both of my hands in his. He leaned down to kiss me. I pulled my hands out from his grip and pushed his chest back away from me.
“I can’t kiss you. And I’m going out with Jett tomorrow night.”
Troy’s eyes glimmered with that fury I’d seen before. He put his hands on his hips looking down and shaking his head repetitively. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t do this to me.”
I stepped back. “I’m not doing anything to you, Troy.” I crossed my arms and gripped my elbows.
He looked up. When his eyes met mine, they simmered with fire. “When I asked for a chance, I thought you were giving me a real chance. A chance without The Gun in the way.” He air quoted “The Gun” with his fingers and a mocking expression smeared on his face.
My stomach growled, and my voice was louder than I meant it to be. “I’m not about to get exclusive with anyone. You’re crazy if you thought I was down to do that. We just met!”
My louder voice must have taken Troy by surprise. His shoulde
rs relaxed. “Okay. Then all I want is one kiss then.” He stepped closer to me.
“No,” I said firmly, stepping back. He annoyed me. I already had said no. I hugged myself tighter, wanting to just go inside.
Troy came closer putting his hands on my shoulders and trying to get me to look him in the eye. I looked past him. My annoyance was rising by the second. “I know that if you kiss me, you’ll change your mind about, Jett.”
I looked up, hoping for patience to drop out of the night sky to help me control my anger. “I said no. When I say no, it means no.” I backed up further away from him. I was ready to leave him and this conversation out in the courtyard.
“Okay. Can we go out on Saturday night? I’ll take you somewhere nice for dinner. And then maybe a club in San Francisco or something. I promise I’ll make sure you don’t drink too much. I’ll watch out for you,” his voice shook as he spoke rapidly.
I shook my head as I walked to the door. “I’m going out with Jett Saturday night after the game.”
That was it. What I’d said was more than he could take. Troy exploded. His arms gesticulated wildly as he screamed, “Jett is taking you out tomorrow and Saturday night! That is not fair!” He spun around roaring, “Why does Jett get two dates in a week? Why do I only get one?”
A group of guys that lived down the hall from me walked around Troy as he stomped around fuming. I wanted to shrivel up and disappear. This was beyond embarrassing.
My anger rumbled inside my chest, but I kept my cool. “I can’t stand for you to shout at me. If you ever want to see me again, you need to learn how to control your temper, Troy. You’re a grown man.”
He stood there with his fists clenched staring at me. I walked inside leaving him stomping and spitting rage outside.
One of the guys from down the hall was in the hallway. He called down to me, “You okay?”
I smiled and waved. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
With a nod, he walked into his room. I dreaded going inside my own room. Marsha would want to know all the details. I had a terrible time, but I knew she would harangue for being too skeptical about Troy.
Why did she think he was such a great catch? Why did she think Jett was so horrible?
I felt so out of control of my life at the moment. I wondered if I’d made any good decisions lately with Troy or Jett.
I thought of Anne of Green Gables and when she said, “Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it.”
In my case, my mistakes of yesterday were haunting me today. What was I doing with my life?
10
Jett
I pulled into the Clark Kerr parking lot, excited for my date with Laney. This was my chance to impress her and to show her who I really was. I pulled down the sun visor to snag a quick look at myself before I saw her. I tied my hair back into a man bun just for the occasion. I laughed at my reflection. When had I ever liked a girl enough that I bothered with my hair?
As I walked out of the parking lot towards Laney’s dorm building, I noticed Troy’s unmistakable red truck. I stopped myself from looking directly at it. If he was in there, ducked behind his steering wheel like a coward, it was best that he had no clue I knew he was there.
What the hell is he doing here?
I fished my phone out of my trousers’ pocket. A looming feeling sprawled inside me. I knew Brick House’s truck at Laney’s meant trouble.
Ox picked up on the first ring. “Yo! What’s up, Gun?” he bellowed into his phone.
“Dude, Brick House’s truck is here at Laney’s dorm. I need some back-up.”
Ox grunted. “That dick! What’s he doing there?”
“I don’t know, but it isn’t anything good,” I scanned the parking lot looking for him, in case he was hidden in the bushes or behind a car, ready with a tire iron to knock me out. You never knew with that dude. He was more than a loose cannon. He was an A-Bomb with no self-control.
Ox grumbled. "Me and the boys will sneak up there and tie Troy's truck axle to a tree with a rope. He won't be able to follow you."
I said with caution, “Thanks, man, but be careful. That guy is mental.”
Ox clucked his tongue. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll take care of Brick House. Good luck with the girl.”
Ending the call with Ox, I felt satisfied with the plan. I could always count on those guys.
I texted Laney that I was outside in the courtyard waiting for her. Then sat down on a concrete bench. I looked around for Troy. Where was he hiding?
Laney texted back that she’d be down in fifteen minutes. I googled on my phone for what sports analysts were saying about the game on Saturday. Sports guys could be such dicks. One guy, Aaron Vaughn, said that our team was no match for UCLA’s defensive squad.
Oh really, Aaron? Go fuck yourself.
When I saw Laney, my mouth dropped open. She looked gorgeous. I stared at her as she walked towards me. I could tell I was embarrassing her. She smiled, looked away, and giggled nervously, but I couldn’t stop watching her.
She had on a mulberry mini cocktail dress on. It wasn’t super short. The hem fell right at her fingertips. The top part of the dress was lace, covering her shoulders and dipping into a V-neck, but it wasn’t a plunging neckline. The lace met with a bustier bodice that sloped in at her waist. The skirt was full and flowing.
She looked hot, despite being tastefully covered up. There was a way to be sexy and modest. Many girls were incapable of finding that sweet spot. Laney had hit it right out of the park. “You look incredible.”
She flipped her hair back off her shoulder. “Thank you.” Her hair was down, and when she tossed her hair back, I got a whiff of her sweet flowery scent. Her full lips were a purplish-red color. I wanted to kiss them right then, but I restrained myself knowing she had already told me that she wasn’t going to kiss me. I respected that.
In the parking lot, Brick House’s car was still there, ominously in the back row. I worried that Laney would notice it and then call off the date. I knew she wasn’t interested in any more drama. If Troy popped up right now ready for a fight, I was sure that we’d get more than just Troy’s daily dramatic antics. I prayed he wasn’t hiding behind one of the cars.
We walked up to my car, and Laney sucked in air with disbelief. I was on edge about Troy, so I careened around expecting the worst.
She exclaimed, “Omigod! Your car door!”
I sighed with relief. “Oh. Ya. It’s just cosmetic damage. From, you know, the other day.” I patted my crumpled door with a shrug to my shoulders.
“I guess you’re right. At least, the car still runs,” she nodded in agreement.
As she walked around to the passenger side and got in, I glimpsed across the parking lot at Troy’s truck. Damn. He wasn’t behind the wheel. No sign of him from what I could tell.
I climbed into my car and started the engine. When I pulled out of the parking lot, in my rearview mirror, I saw Troy’s head pop up from behind his steering wheel. Wow. He was in there the entire time, hiding and watching us. Creepy. And dedicated. How long had he been waiting for me to pick up Laney?
Before I made a right turn out of the lot, I saw Troy’s truck tires spinning endlessly but not going anywhere. Smoke billowed out around the truck. I could make out Troy hitting his steering wheel desperately, and I laughed out loud.
Laney smiled at me. “What’s so funny?”
I turned up the volume on the song that was playing, ‘I’m the One.’ “Oh, I just laugh when I hear this song. Who would have thought Beiber would come out with a song with Chance the Rapper?”
Laney beamed. “I love Chance the Rapper.”
“Me too. He’s awesome. Great lyricist and a man about his community,” I said as I drove away, leaving Troy literally in the dust.
I drove up to Shattuck Avenue. I could tell Laney hadn’t been to this part of town. She was quiet as she looked out the window at the passing buildings and people.
Chez Pannise is a famous world-renowned
restaurant that serves a pre-fixe four-course menu. It’s one hundred dollars per person. In my senior year of high school, lots of college football recruiters would fly in and take me out to dinner to lavish restaurants. But, Chez Pannise was still my favorite restaurant on the Bay.
The atmosphere had a close intimacy. It was just the kind of place I wanted to take Laney to get to know her. The owner, Alice Waters, was a Berkeley alum and started the restaurant during the Free Speech Movement at Berkeley. The restaurant had the warm ambiance I wanted for our first date and the history behind it that I hoped Laney would appreciate.
“This place is lovely,” Laney commented, looking around.
“It’s one of my favorite places in Berkeley,” I said to her, wanting to take her hands that she delicately placed on the table into my own. I stopped myself. She said no physical contact.
“The restaurant’s owner is Alice Waters,” I informed her, eager to see if she knew who she is.
Laney interjected happily, “I looked this place up. Then looked her up. She’s a food activist, an integral supporter of the organic food movement, which is so awesome. So is my mom.”
“Your mom’s a chef?” I asked curiously.
“No. She’s a biologist who believes in providing food that’s free from herbicides and pesticides.”
“So that’s how you know so much about plants and flowers!” I exclaimed, hitting the table as if I’d figured out a secret mystery.
Laney looked out the window bashfully. “Yup. My mom went through graduate school when I was growing up. We sorta studied together. She taught me stuff she learned.”
I thought about how hard it must be for her to be so far away from her mother. It seemed she had a close relationship with her. Laney must have been an adorable, sweet little girl.
The server was a friendly woman with the focused attention of a professional server, which could be difficult to find sometimes even in the most exclusive establishments. Her dark hair was pinned back in a tight bun as she presented courses with courtesy and flourish.
